


Prompted Writing: Star Trek TOS

by WriterToBridge



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Abduction, Blushing, Body Horror, Character Death, Death, Flirting, Gen, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Pain, Possession, Resurrection, Rotting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8495953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterToBridge/pseuds/WriterToBridge
Summary: Each chapter contains a different story based around Star Trek: The Original Series. All stories are inspired by different prompts that are either posted on or are sent to my inbox on Tumblr.Ratings, pairings, and characters will vary from chapter to chapter. The specifics elements of each chapter will be specified in the notes before each story.If you'd like to send a prompt, please send them here.





	1. Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Leonard McCoy, Spock
> 
> No warnings. Developing Spones. Takes place after the events of "Operation -- Annihilate!" (episode 1.29).
> 
> Prompt: _“aaah I can’t stop blushing… No you’re not helping at all”_ \-- for a tumblr ask box meme [x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152850486958/16-for-spock-x-mccoy-qwq)]

The door chime wasn’t welcome. Leonard considered ignoring it. It was late, after all. Whoever was on the other side, standing in the hallway, waiting for his answer, was bound to think he was asleep if they stood out there for too awful long. At least, that’s what he hoped as he leaned back in his desk chair and closed his eyes. But the chime rang a second time and tore that hope away. Persistence. Who was so damn persistent this late? Leonard sighed, sat up, and looked towards the door.

“Come in,” he said.

The door hissed open. If Leonard really thought about it, he would have expected Jim to walk through his door. Instead, it was Spock, with his arms tucked behind his back and the same stoic expression plastered across his face that he always carried. Leonard was glad he hadn’t changed for bed yet. After the day he, rather they, had, the last thing he wanted was to share with Spock what he slept in.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Doctor,” Spock said. No, he wasn’t, but Leonard let that slide.

“What do you want, Spock?” Leonard tried to sound like a gracious host, but he wasn’t sure it passed. Spock didn’t seem deterred by his tone.

“I wanted to return the compliment.”

Leonard tilted his head up and blinked.

“Compliment?”

“You said that you believed I was the best first officer in Starfleet.”

Leonard sighed and leaned his face onto his right hand, which was propped against his desk.

“God, don’t remind me,” he groaned.

“I must, and I must also tell you that I find that you are one of the best chief medical officers that Starfleet has and there is no one else on this ship that I would rather see after facing blindness.”

Leonard blinked again. Then he lifted his head from his hand and looked, _really_  looked, at the Vulcan. Spock was toying with him. He had to be. There was no way he meant that. But there was nothing but that stoic sincerity scrawled across the man’s face. He must be sick. Delusional. Insane! Any of these things. Yet heat still rose to Leonard’s cheeks. He could almost feel his face reddening with each second.

“Are you feeling alright, Doctor?” Spock asked.

“How could you say something like that and then ask me that?!” Leonard asked.

“I had only intended to share the truth.”

“The truth?!” Leonard rose from his chair. “Dammit, Spock, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to flirt with me.”

Silence. Spock’s expression didn’t change. Leonard stared, mouth agape.

“Are you?” Leonard asked. His voice was hushed then. Spock still didn’t respond. “Spock, if this is a joke–”

“I would not attempt humor in this situation.”

“Then you are trying to flirt with me?”

“Yes.”

It was stated in such a neutral, unemotional way that Leonard nearly sputtered out a disjointed, unintelligible sentence. Somehow he managed to keep his damn mouth shut. It didn’t prevent the heat from his cheeks to increase.

“You’re blushing,” Spock said.

“That’s what happens when you flirt with a man that isn’t expecting it, Spock.” Leonard’s voice wasn’t terse, but there was an edge to it that he’d rather not be there.

“While I do find the change in color fascinating, I do find the normal pigment of your skin more enjoyable to look at.”

Heat crept up the back of Leonard’s neck.

“You’re not helping!”

“Then you wish me to stop?”

“I didn’t say that.” Leonard paused and averted his eyes. “You’re a logical man. I didn’t expect you to come barging in here in the middle of the night and start flirting with me. In fact, you were the last person I expected to do that.”

“Perhaps you do not know me as well as you believed,” Spock said.

There was always that. He always disregarded Spock’s feelings because the man was overly logical. Perhaps there was something there he missed. Something he wouldn’t mind exploring, the more he thought about it. Leonard tucked his hands behind his back and bounced onto his toes.

“Alright, so what is it your after then?” Leonard asked. He looked at Spock. “A date?”

“A date would be agreeable.”

“Fine. A date it is. When?”

“Tomorrow at nineteen-hundred hours would suffice.”

“Great. I’m assuming you want this to be a private thing.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t. My quarters or yours?”

“Mine. I believe I may be able to set a mood that will be enjoyable for the both of us.”

“Alright.” Leonard said. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Spock nodded and made his way to the door. Before he could get close enough for it to open, he turned back around. “Oh, and Doctor?”

“Yes, Spock?”

“While it is true that I am a Vulcan, I am also half human. Beauty is not beyond my understanding, especially when it comes to you.”

The little heat that had dissipated from Leonard’s cheeks rose again like a flame. Spock nodded and left. He said that on purpose to get that damn blush out of him again. That green-blooded bastard. Leonard smiled.


	2. The Host

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Leonard McCoy, Spock, Jim Kirk
> 
> Established Spones -- tied up (not bondage), kidnapping, blood
> 
> Prompt: _I'd like to prompt Spones, and here are some words for inspiration (you could literally use them or not, I suppose): ephemeral, solitude, redolent, dalliance, vagary._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153789633893/are-you-still-taking-prompts-i-really-like-your)]

“Doctor, I believe I am in need of your assistance.”

Spock never barged into the infirmary and asked for help. Well, okay, that wasn’t entirely true. If something happened to Jim and he needed a medical opinion, sure, he’d come running, but Jim was fine; the entire landing party was fine for that matter. Leonard could’ve gone through his entire day as peachy as his Southern tea and crawled into bed with no more worries than usual. But no, here came Spock, asking for his help, which meant something had happened. Even though they’d been dating for around two months, Leonard knew the man would never break that tradition.

He turned in his desk chair and caught sight of the Vulcan. Spock looked as poised and proper as ever, but a strange green skin abrasion began to cover the man’s cheek and threaten to stretch along his jawline. Another similar abrasion cut under his chin and seared across his throat. Leonard stood, grabbed his tricorder, and rushed over, flicking it open as he walked.

“What happened?” Leonard asked.

“I believe that I came into contact with something on the planet’s surface.”

“Anyone else come up with wounds like these?”

“No, and I doubt that they will.”

Leonard looked up and wanted to ask what he meant, but a strong grasp tightened on his shoulder. It took a second, maybe less, before his mind jarred and tumbled into blank, inky unconsciousness.

That black lasted for one ephemeral moment. Then, Leonard drifted back to the world with fluttered eyes and a soft moan. His neck hurt. He tried to lift his hand to rub against the minute throbbing, but his hands, both of them, stayed trapped behind him. Leonard paused, took a sharp breath in, and opened his eyes.

He wasn’t on the ship. Rock walls and carved stone pillars marked with unfamiliar symbols and faces surrounded him in a circular fashion far too purposefully. He was placed in this room, against this wall, with intent. Spock’s intent, no doubt. That green-blooded--

Wait.

Where was Spock?

Leonard’s eyes scanned the cavern around him. No one was in there. Aside from his own breathing, he didn’t pick up any sounds either. He was alone. A momentary solitude, to be sure, but it would give him a chance to test his bindings.

He attempted to jerk his arms free. A knotted something kept his wrists locked one over the other. He wriggled and dipped his head. The binds were way too tight to slip out of. Any tighter and they probably would’ve cut the circulation to his fingers. But his gaze fell to his legs and he caught a likely similar binding around his ankles. It was black and the material looked like the handle of a science tricorder. He pulled his left leg back, but his ankles remained trapped side-by-side and didn’t look like they were going to separate any time soon.

“You have awoken.”

It was Spock’s voice. And for a moment, when the Vulcan stepped into view, Leonard thought it truly was Spock. But there was something about the man’s gaze and tone that was off. Well, the growing skin abrasions were off too, but that could be any number of things. Leonard suspected, though, that it was linked to Spock’s change in character and sudden need to knock him unconscious.

“What do you want?” Leonard asked. Spock, or whatever resided in Spock, tilted his head.

“You do not speak to us as you would speak to the host.”

_The host_. Well that was reassuring.

“It’s clear you’re not Spock,” Leonard said, “You knocked me unconscious, tied me up, and drug me off the damn ship.”

“It was necessary. We require a second host. The host’s knowledge of your behavior suggested that you would refuse our request to come willingly given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“We were exiled from our kind. We wish to seek revenge. Using you both as hosts will give us the chance to return and exact the revenge we seek.”

“So, you want to transfer to me so I can be your host?”

“No. You will become the host of only one of us. The other will remain in this host.”

“Will that help Spock?”

“No. You will both die before we arrive but we will still be able to use you as hosts until we reach our home world.”

Leonard sighed.

“I hate to agree with Spock,” Leonard said, “But he’s right. I never would’ve agreed to come. But you’re just going to take my body by force now, aren’t you?”

“No. We must have permission from you, the host, in order to take your body.”

They needed permission. Well, that certainly changed things. Leonard had the power to say no and live. And he would normally, but then there was Spock. He couldn’t just leave those things in the Vulcan and let them kill him, even if Spock had agreed to...

“Wait, Spock _agreed_ to this?” Leonard asked. He was surprised the question came out at all. But the things seemed unmoved.

“We tricked him into agreeing. We would have attempted the same to you, but his will is far too strong. We cannot lie so long as we are present in his body.”

“And now that you have control, he can’t kick you out.” It was more of a statement than a question. Leonard had a feeling he knew what the answer was already. Yet, there was hesitation in the words that answered him.

“He may but it is a difficult process and cannot be done alone.”

“What can I do to help?”

Silence answered him. Behind that stoic Vulcan face Leonard was sure there was a mental battle raging. If such battles had phaser shots and battlefield shouting, he was sure he would’ve heard it. But all he could do was stare at that familiar face with growing anxiety.

“We will not allow this dalliance to stand between us and our mission,” Spock’s voice finally said, “You will agree or we will kill the host.”

A thin trail of green blood oozed from the Vulcan’s nose. Leonard jerked unconsciously towards him to help, but the bindings held him back. A soft, whispered, “Spock,” was all he could manage to push towards the man. That emotionless face stared back for a second, only one, before something flickered across the man’s face. He blinked, he paused.

“Leonard.”

And then he was gone again. That stoic face was back. Spock’s mouth opened, but no words escaped. The mental war was still brewing. Leonard focused on his bindings then. His hands jerked back and forth, his wrists rubbing raw against the makeshift restraints. They loosened, but only enough to make him feel like he was making progress. He couldn’t actually wrench his hands free. But the more he pulled, the more of his skin gave. Eventually, he felt blood slip against the bindings. The slickness was enough to finally free one of his hands. This steady fingers jerked the knot free that held his ankles together. Then he climbed to his feet and practically sprinted to Spock. His hands reached for and touched the Vulcan’s cheeks.

“Spock,” Leonard said, “Tell me what I need to do.”

No answer. Spock’s eyes weren’t on him. They tracked to where Leonard had been. Leonard gave the man a gentle shake.

“Spock!”

The eyes flicked towards him so quickly Leonard almost jumped, but the familiar comfort was there, lingering beneath the depths of those distant, brown eyes. For a moment, Leonard thought that familiar flicker would drift away. Instead, the space closed between them and lips touched his own.

They’d kissed before, he and Spock, but the Vulcan’s vagary kept him from fully diving into the moment. His eyes remained open. A blessing, in a way, as he was able to see two twisting phantoms drift and vanish against the cavern walls. Spock gently pulled back. Leonard gazed at the man’s face and watched the stoic expression soften into the Vulcan contentment he grew to trust. Leonard gave him a soft smile.

“Welcome back to the world, Mr. Spock,” he said.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

And Spock’s tone was back too. Leonard had never been more relieved to hear it. He dragged his left hand to the blood that had dripped from Spock’s nose and brushed it away. None took it’s place.

“Looks like the bleeding’s stopped,” Leonard said, “I’d like to get you back to the ship and run some tests though, just to make sure there aren’t any other problems.”

“That would be logical.”

Leonard’s eyebrow quirked up.

“First you kiss me and now you’re calling me logical. Spock, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to flatter me.”

“Both were merely--”

“Don’t ruin the moment with logic, Spock.”

Whatever protests Spock had died on his lips. They’d had similar conversations before. Although they loved to argue philosophy and discourse, Leonard found that Spock loved their emotional peace a bit more. So did he. They both learned when to fold and did so without question. Actions, however, could always be questioned, especially ones that appeared to be made on a whim. Like a kiss, for instance.

“But, let me guess, you thought a kiss from your true love would free you from the curse, right?” Leonard asked. He was teasing and emphasized such in his phrasing, but he knew that Spock would answer him in a logical way, as he always did.

“I believed that your kiss would elicit memories that would provide me with the mental strength I needed to retain my body,” Spock answered as logical as ever. Leonard hadn’t been disappointed. He was, however, surprised. So much so that he blinked and let his hands fall to Spock’s shoulders in a slow, drained fashion.

“What kind of memories?” Leonard asked.

“When we first kissed, I was brought back to the redolent flowers on Omicron Ceti III,” Spock said, “They appeared to be innocent but released spores so powerful that carelessness and joy were all I could live for.”

Leonard blinked.

“And my kisses do that for you?”

“Momentarily.”

Pink skirted across Leonard’s cheeks as he bounced on his toes and wrapped his arms around the back of Spock’s neck.

“Why Spock, I believe that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Leonard said.

“I believe you may be correct.”

Leonard smiled. Beamed, almost. He could have lit up that damn cave if he actually radiated any light. He intended to close the rest of the space between them, but a light voice slipped in and cut off his movements.

“If you wanted some privacy, all you had to do was ask.”

At the mouth of the cavern, where the daylight of the planet slipped in, was Jim. His arms were crossed in some stern resolve but a triumphant, kind smile was pressed on his face.

“I’m afraid I did not bring Doctor McCoy here for privacy, Captain,” Spock said, “The situation was far more serious than the Doctor’s posture would lead you to believe.”

Leonard dropped his arms and almost pouted at Spock. He was right, of course, but a twinge of hurt still flowed into him. But there was a time and a place for the romance to continue, and here, with Jim present, the time had passed. After the examination, Leonard thought, and they’d pick up where they left off.

“You’d be surprised what the power of a good kiss can do,” Leonard said, a bounce to his voice that matched the bounce in his feet. He peered at Jim, who only smiled more.

“I expect a full report about this,” Jim said.

“You’ll know every detail,” Leonard answered.

Spock didn’t protest. He never did.


	3. The Last Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Spock, Leonard McCoy
> 
> Warnings for character death, exhuming a body, body horror, and extreme physical pain.
> 
> Prompt: _Spock has the opportunity to spend the night with Leonard, whom he has always loved and who has been dead for over twenty years. But the drawbacks to their one night together may be too horrible to bear._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/156069071203/dark-spones-spock-has-the-opportunity-to-spend)]

It wasn’t logical.

That was the first thought that crossed into Spock’s mind when he had examined the ritual over twenty-two years prior. Yet, there was something about the idea of seeing someone long after their death that was fascinating to him. He hadn’t anticipated that he would feel strongly enough about someone to bring them back for one night, however, especially when there was such a terrible risk added to the ritual. So, Spock logged the information, as he did with most things, and continued his life without much consideration on the matter.

A year after discovering the ritual, Leonard McCoy had died.

It was a natural event – one that would plague others that once lived on the Enterprise – which lead to a very human funeral service. Though his heart ached for the doctor, he still did not seriously consider going through the ritual. He loved Doctor McCoy as much as a Vulcan could love a human, but the ritual would still be illogical. He would even dissuade Jim from going through it if he ever spoke of it.

Then two decades passed. Although Spock had many more years ahead of him, there were curiosities that drew him back to the ritual and his dead love, whom he never told of his affections. They were too human. They still were. Perhaps that was why he cloaked the idea of using the ritual as scientific curiosity. Yes. Pure scientific curiosity. And it was what he would tell Doctor McCoy about the matter, if the man were to emerge because of his actions and words.

Spock spent the next year planning out the ritual. He wanted each detail to be perfect, to ensure the best possible out come. It wasn’t until he had gathered the salt, blood, and other listed materials that he went out to the graveyard, uncovered McCoy’s body, and stole one of the various bones that lay hidden beneath the once compact soil in a coffin as solid as the last time Spock saw it. With the ulna in hand, Spock recovered McCoy’s remains and took a transporter to the house he’d rented for two weeks.

The rest of the materials were inside, positioned and ready for the evening’s ritual. Drawn on the floor in white chalk was a circle and lines that formed a myriad of perfect triangles varying in size only. Spock placed the ulna at the center and step away and viewed his work with an odd mix of emotion he didn’t take the time to examine. Then, he picked up the text from the nearby table, stood at his allotted location outside the drawn ring, and began to speak.

At first, his words did nothing. He suspected that such a thing would happen. But as he continued to speak, an unnatural energy began to fill the room. A portion of his mind, perhaps a more logical side, insisted that stopping was in his best interest. But his curiosity and heart got the better of him. He let emotions control his words as he chanted, without truly reading, the text he memorized long ago. After a few more seconds, a chalk began to glow. The ulna was enraptured inside of the foreign light. Then each tendril seemed to bring forth matter from elsewhere. Although the formation of that substance was silent at first, each addition seemed to bring rise to screaming. Monstrous screaming. Spock had never heard a sound quite like it on many planet he’d ever visited. Soon it echoed over his words and mutated, as the tendrils did, into something else, something more human. A structure formed as the wailing orchestra around him conducted the motion. Each piece added on seemed to symbolize a human figure, one likely recognizable years ago, but the outer shell seemed far less humanoid and far more beastly. Though the peach skin Spock had grown to appreciate was there, it wasn’t there in all the right places. Chunks hung off crafted bone and revealed the aged brown beneath. One clear blue eye was visible, bright, shining, but the other was vacant and the hole meant to be there showed the darkened skull and muscle that formed in tatters and never fully materialized. Hair was blotted on like unfinished paint. Yet, the skin around his mouth formed perfectly, as did the lips. They were the only things on the doctor’s body that seemed finished once the light died and the screams drifted away. The sole eye connected with his gaze. It was only then Spock realized he had stopped speaking sometime turning McCoy’s return.

It worked, but there was already a cost. This shambling matter wasn’t complete. This was not the full Doctor McCoy. The pain showed on the dear man’s face as he collapsed to his knees in the center of the ring.

“Spock,” McCoy said, his voice a frog-like, trembling croak, “What have you done?”

“I apologize, Doctor. I had not realized–”

“Send me back!” McCoy yelled. His voice brought with it the might of the transformation, but only because the shaking quality and clear pain mustered through the doctor’s words echoed so heavily against Spock’s heart.

“You will return on your own in six hours.”

A broken sob left the man’s body.

“I-I can’t stay like this for six hours, Spock. I can’t–!” Pain choked off the remainder of the doctor’s sentence. Spock’s heart nearly went with it.

Spock had read the ritual correctly. He was certain. The side effects of the ritual were unbearable pain for the rest of one’s life. He had anticipated himself taking on that pain. Had he known the pain would be transferred to Doctor McCoy, he never would have considered the ritual. He would have allowed the doctor to remain restful.

He approached the ring, but did not enter. It was forbidden to do so. Whatever consequences came of such an action were not stated. Since the matter of pain was not stated clearly enough, Spock didn’t want to take the chances of risking more agony upon the doctor. He knelt outside the ring and watched the man shake, gasp, and grasp at his own falling skin as if he was trying to collect it and reattach the pieces in a desperate cling of ease. Blood began to ooze from the man’s body, but it was black, tar-like, nearly sticking to the man’s skin before seeping onto the chalked flooring.

“My sincerest apologies, Leonard,” Spock said, “I did not know my actions would cause you so much pain.”

“Then do me a favor and put me out of my misery.”

“I cannot.”

“Spock, _please_!”

“It is forbidden. The ritual states such actions will have consequences.”

The sole blue eye peered at him. Tears coated the ball. When Leonard blinked, they dripped into the opened sores on his cheek and blended with the black blood that began to stain his peach skin.

“Why did you do this?” Leonard’s voice was fragile, broken.

“The ritual stated that completion would cause one to go through unbearable pain for the rest of a person’s life. I had believed that I would be the one experiencing said pain so I took the risk.”

“Why would you take that risk for me? Why not Jim?”

It was true, Jim had passed, though his death was not as natural. And likely, Jim would have accepted Spock’s excuse of ‘scientific curiosity’ as a motive. But that was not the case with Leonard. There would have been a falsely placed lecture if Spock were to state such a falsehood. So, Spock spoke the truth.

“I am far more human that I ever let myself believe while you were alive. I have loved you even since your passing. I was willing to bear the pain the ritual brought if I were allowed to see you one last time.”

There was a pause. Leonard blinked. Then a choked scoff exited the man’s mouth. A groan of pain followed. Then, a sputter of black from one of McCoy’s exposed lungs.

“This is illogical, Spock,” Leonard said.

“I am in agreement. I apologize again. I had not wished to–”

“Save it. We only have six hours to talk about this and I’d rather you not spend it on apologizing over and over again. Just… how long have you loved me, Spock?”

“Since we first met. I believe humans would call my experience ‘love at first sight’.”

There was that pain-choked laugh again. It caused more black ooze, more trembling, more pain. Then, there was an ease. It lasted a moment before Spock stood. Leonard’s gaze followed him.

“What are you doing?” Leonard asked.

“I am going to join you.”

“In here? Won’t that be a bad thing?”

“Yes. But since what I have done is already illogical, I believe more illogical actions will not being any more harm to you.”

“Spock, wait–”

Ignoring Leonard’s cry, Spock stepped into the ring. He felt no change. He observed Leonard who, also, experienced no alterations. Spock approached, knelt down, and gathered the doctor into his arms. A painful scream surged from the man’s throat, then died away. Spock spoke then of the last twenty-two years, of the passing of friends, of his own life, of Leonard’s daughter, of her family, of the matters Spock thought Leonard would likely to know. The doctor spoke little as they sat, but Spock was aware that the man was still alive, still trembling with each breath and each beat of his heart. As the hours passed, the doctor’s breathing became more and more ragged. Then, they closed in on the final minutes. Spock became silent as he felt the doctor grow weaker.

“Leonard, you will always be my t’hy’la,” Spock said. He felt the doctor chuckle, but no words came out. Spock let that be the final words between them. Soon, lights came from the chalk again and the doctor’s body oozed away, leaving nothing but the ulna that Spock would have to return. The light dimmed, then vanished, leaving nothing but Spock and his ritual gear. After a moment, Spock stood and exited the ring. It allowed him.

He crossed into the house’s bathroom, turned on the light, and washed his hands. He looked at himself in the mirror, examined his aged and worn features, before dipping his head and washing his face. He turned off the water, grabbed a nearby hand towel, and brushed the water away before looking up again.

His eyes caught a discoloration of his cheek. It was the same cheek that had been exposed on Leonard’s body. Spock brought up his fingers and touched the darkened skin. His fingers dug in. He felt nothing. He pulled away and a small portion of flesh went with it, leaving an open, unfeeling wound. No blood came out. Spock observed, touched again, and realized with growing discomfort what had transpired.

Spock was beginning to rot.


End file.
